


I'm Going To Miss You

by BatLock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Abuse, F/M, M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2156136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatLock/pseuds/BatLock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doesn't quite follow series three. John and Sherlock have a moment back at 221B on John's stag night. Sherlock's not ready to let go and doesn't deal well with losing John again. Don't read if drug abuse or suicide is a trigger for you!</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Going To Miss You

**Author's Note:**

> This is from Sherlock's POV.  
> I'm very new to writing fanfiction so I don't really know what I'm doing. Sorry. Enjoy.

_We're getting married._ Those words echoed through my head reapeatly for days, weeks, months. A never ending reptitious torture. He was so happy when he said those words, while my mind battled with itself, able to conclude how I felt... how I was supposed to feel; sad, happy, lost? Not that I didn't deserve it. I deserved every bit of pain I felt for what I put him through. I thought by jumping off that building three years ago I was saving his life, but all I did was rip us apart and all that we did together. I took every memory he had of me, of us, and layered the image of my 'dead' body throughout them.

\--------

The weeks flew by, our last weeks. _No_. My last weeks. It was all a blur of save the date cards and lilac bridesmaid dresses. A rush to get everything done in such a short time. A sharp pain struck my chest each time arrangements were made and ticked off, the ties between us breaking as he moved further away from me.

But he was so happy. And I was happy for him, truly. After all the loss he, John, deserved a win, he deserved Mary.

\--------

Our last night together, his stag night and we end up back at 221B, back in the chairs we've frequented over the years and I can't help but relax within sense normalcy. We're playing some sort of game and though I don't understand the rules I enjoy the way his attention is fixed on me. The amusment in his eyes light them to an beautiful, unearthly blue, and each time I glance in his direction I'm lost. His voice carries me away from the sea of blue I'm drowning in, and even with the alcohol that is currently making a mockery of his speech pattern, the sound is one I long to hear.

Without warning I feel his hand on my leg, the pad of his thumb softly brushing my knee. I look up startled, trying to search his eyes but they're fixed on his hands as gentle, exploritory fingers drift their way higher. I relax beneath his fingers and the words slip out before I can stop them ' _I don't mind'._ He finally meets my eyes, sapphire blue bore into mine and in this moment, with all hihibtions thrown out the window, I allow myself something I had always refused. Him.

Leaning forward slowly, I let my eyes drift over his body as he focuses on my movement, watching with barely consealed anticipation. His hand tighens beneath my thigh so I bring my hands to rest gently on his hips and rub reassuring circles there as he hovers above me. His breath catches and I push him back by his hips to switch our positions. My hands leave his body to grip the sides of his chair, entrapping his body with my own. I lean towards him as he watches me, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth with his pupils blown wide. I let myself hover in just before his lips, waiting, unwilling to take this from him.

He gives a quick node in reply to my unasked question, before my brain has fully processed the situation I finally allow myself taste him. Our lips meet and it is not haste, just a gentle, touch of lips.

All the late nights we've spent together these emotions I never allowed to come to light, but right here, right now I can feel each one in this kiss. We part and our eyes lock, pupils lust blown and lips spit slicked, a smile touches his face. I feel his hand ghost across my chest before knotting in the collar of my shirt and pulling me forward. The sight of him in front of me, my love and lust mirrored overwhelms my senses and I dart forward to catch his lips. My hands move to his head and neck to deepen the kiss and my tongue swips against his lips, seeking enterance. A groan escapes when his lips part for me and his hands move to my hips, beckoning me forward. I move my legs to either side of his and press my body flush to his as his hand move to pull at the buttons of my shirt.

Our breathing quickens. He prys my shirt apart and I shudder when his fingers touch my skin. I gasp when his thumbs massage my nipples and buck my hips forward to meet his. The moan that leaves his lips makes me stop in my pursute of his lips to look at the man below me. The hands on my hips tighten and I hear a small small whine as he tugs my hips back to his. I thrust my hips in a quick rythm against his as our mouths move together. I yank of my jacket and quickly follow with his, our lips never parting. His hands move round my body to run up my back as I work on the buttons of his shirt. I kiss my way down his jaw, listening the sound of his breath against my shoulder as his nails scrape along my back. I trail my tongue across his pulsepoint and down to his exposed collar bone and I can hear his breath hitch. He pushes hip hips up to meet mine and I can't help the groan of _'John'._ His fingers slide around my body to hook in the waistband of my trousers and the realisation hits.

My hips stop despite his deperate whines and my arms circle his strong form. I rest my head on his shoulder and will my breathing to slow. _"Sherlock?"_ his voice laced with lust and concern and I try to hide the tears starting to form as whisper _'I'm going to miss you'_. I feel his hands still _'Oh. Yeah.'._ His hands hestitantly move around my shirt to rub soft circles and now the tears start to fall in silent confirmation that this is over.

He raises his head once our breathing has slowed and moves mine to meet his eyes. Shock and recognition laces his tired face, and I swear in that moment, nothing could hurt more. He clears his throat, the heat between us disapates as looks away from me, unable to meet my eyes as he shifts beneath my body. Uncomfortable.

I quickly remove my hands from his body and lean back to rest them on my thighs. I'm desperate to retreat from the hurt his reaction has caused but I'm unable to move, frozen in place when his voice breaks through my thoughts. _"Thanks, for tonight, Sherlock."_ The words cut deeper than I thought any could and with them my face becomes an unreadable mask. With the alcohol still swishing in my brain I attempt to reply while moving from his lap An emense need to withdraw pulses through my body.

 _"You're most welcome, John."_ I say striving for a genuine smile. He follows my movement and something resembling hurt graces his features before he look away from me. I stand there for a moment watching him, his face set with a hard expression I can't understand. He stands suddenly and shuffles around to avoid touching me. Out of the corner of my eye I him hesitate at the door but my eyes stayed fixed on his chair till. He sighed before leaving me in the room. Alone.

I waited till I heard his old bedroom door close before I made my way to my own room, heading straight for my bed. The tears had long since dried on my face and I cling to the clothes I'm still wearing as I curl in on myself. The scent of John surrounds me, the lingering touch of his lips the only comfort in this cold, dark room but I make no move to seek the warmth of the cover beneath me. The chill that aches my tense body is not caused by the crisp London air flowing through the opens windows, but is deep routed in my bones. The same chill that went dormant when I came back to him.

\-----------

The wedding passed in a slow, agonising drag of time. A sick mix of happiness and hurt filled my thin frame. Losing him was hard when I fell, but watching him walk away down that isle was torture in the cruelist form. It seemd extraordinarily twisted that our last case should end on the day I finally lose him in every other respect.

I watch them, tangled together on the dance floor, twisting and turning and my mind takes me our dance lessons. _Our bodies pressed together as we move accross the floor in 221B in perfect sync. The music plays softly in the background. We laugh and smile, our eyes locked. Both dressed in plain tops and jeans the scene is almost domestic. We continue till our breath comes quick and we have to hold tighter to keep each other upright._ And in this packed hall it suddently hurts too much to watch any longer, seeing her in my place, or perhaps it's remembering me in her's. I look around the hall searching for someone else to focus on but all I see are happy faces plastered on every guest. I don't fit.

I leave early. ' _No point in staying'_ I tell myself but i know it's a lie. He is the reason to stay but it pains me to see him so happy with someone else, as happy as he was with me, on our cases, running through London. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through his veins, just the two of us against the rest of the world.

Though I never did deserve him, the greatest man I ever knew.

\---------

A few weeks pass and I haven't seen him since the reception. The days seem longer without him here. I forget to eat, forget to sleep. I throw myself into one case after another, deducing, looking for clues, all in an attempt to fill the emptiness within. I know I'm just stumbling along, the brain without the heart.

I'm making my way back from a case, taking in the senery slowly and as I reach 221B for the last time I turn to look up to the sky. _Beautiful. Magnificent. Nothing like him though._ As my thoughts drift to risky territory I turn away, shaking my head to dispell the unwanted memories. I slot the key in the door and when it opens I sigh. _Alone_. I head for the stairs and drag my fingers across the wall as I make my way up. I throw the coat from my too thin body behind me with little regard for where it lands as I approach the living room.

I glance into the disorganised room. _Empty._ I make my way over to my chair facing the kitchen and settle into the comfortable leather. I glare at the empty space John's seat once possessed. _Gone_. My thoughts flitter from old cases with him and the look on his face as he refuses to meet my eyes and I can feel anger rising from low in my abdomen. I cross my arm across my chest and my hand touches someting in my pocket. And as I remember my escape for this lonely existance I feel my anger disapate.

Pulling the recently aquired balloon from my pocket, my eyes drift from the offending space. I twist it around in my hands, feeling my release in the rubber as I grip it between my lean fingers. The cases had helped the weeks trudge by, but this, this is to stop time altogether.

I push myself from the comfortable and move to the kitchen, to gather the necessities; _syringe, spoon, lighter and rubber tubing_. The things are easy enough to find and soon I'm walkign back into the living room with everything in hand.

I sit back down and I can feel the anticipation growing. My fingers shaking as pull up my shirt sleeve to expose my arm. I pull the tubing tight around my left arm with my teeth and move to carefully pour the heroin onto the spoon. The lighter flickers alive and I start to cook the irresitable drug, my attention unwavering.

I place the spoon down gently and take the syringe, fascinated by the dark liquid filling the instrument. Taping the syringe once, twice, I place it against my pulsing vein and push.

I sink into the chair and let my head fall back as the electricity pulses through my veins desperate to pull me to my highest just to witness my final fall. I rip off the tubing and throw it to floor as the drug plays with my body.

My heart starts to race, my pulse quickens, the final stretch. And I think of him. _My John_. _Her John_. His riddiculous jumpers, his scarcastic remarks and that half smile he does _did_ when I made my deductions. I smile at the memories as they flood through my drug addled brain.

The sounds of carefully placed footsteps pull me from my reverie. _Mrs Hudson, it must be_. I hurry to a standing position as best I can before my body starts to inevitably shut down. I move towards the door to the living and try to focus despite the haze clouding my mind. The door opens and he enters the room but his eyes never meet mine. He closes the door and I can hear him take a deep breath before he turns around and finally looks at me. I feel self conscious with him standing their, holding himself like the solider he once was. A frown appears on his face and I follow his line of sight. A small drop of blood has dribbled down my arm. _He knows._

I look back towards John, wanting to explain but no words come. I try to reach for him but I stumble forwards and he catches me in his arms. _It's close now._ Pulling myself up straight, gripping his biceps to balance myself. My legs are shaking now and I can feel his arms circling around me. I look up and through a well used mask I can see tears building in his eyes as his arms tighten around my trembling form. He pulls me over the couch and I curl into the heat of his body, resting my head on his chest, the soft thump of his heart is soothing. _This is it._

 _"Sherlock"_ His voice manages to break on that two syallble word and tears start to fall. At first I'm confused _that would be the organs shutting down_. I look into his eyes and he looks into mine for the first time in weeks. So completely, wonderfully blue but so filled with pain. I close my eyes to the sight of it, him in pain, I can't bare to look.

I can feel my body slipping as he shuffles next to me, desperate to say goodbye I whisper to his chest 'Have a good life John Watson'.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

My eyes open and through heavy lids I see him sitting beside me, unmoving and straight-faced. I sit up and notice I'm in a hospital bed. The insesent beeping continues out of sync next to me and I glare at the offending machine. But John pulls my attention back to him " _Sherlock, wake up. Open yours eyes"_ he says without moving his lips.

 _'I am awake'_ I tell him but he just continues to chant ' _Wake up, Sherlock. Wake up'_. I try to reassure him again but the sounds get trapped in my throat, my body is shaken and suddenly my lids are too heavy. They close.

 _"Sherlock!"_ His voice brings me back and now I'm surrounded by the flat once again. John is on the phone _the beeping,_ his face so pained _._ I reach up and try to stroke away to lines of worryand his faces softens when he leans into the touch. _"Hurry"_ he says, his sweet voice breaking. _I'm dying._

I hear the phone hit the floor as his arms circle my weakened body, his head drops to mine and I can feel the tears hit my face before I hear the pain racked sobs. I'm crying with him, our tears entwine across my face, his full of pain while mine are empty.

"I'm going to miss you." I hear him whisper to me as the tears start to soak through my shirt. I grip his biscep hard with what little strength remains, my last attempt and only attempt at reassurance. I breath in his scent for the final time. My eyes close. My body goes slack.

I'll miss you too.

\---------

It never stops, the pain, losing the one person would not only knew you as you present yourself to the world but, the person who could anticipate your every move and emotion. The heart to the head. Dependant. _It never occurred to me that he'd feel it too._


End file.
